Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Founder of New Ideals
by AmorphousExplorer
Summary: Do you believe in second chances? I was sent to a hostile world alongside a totodile who would love to kill me, my body changed to a form I wish I could just forget, and everyone keeps asking me for favors. Things should have ended quickly enough, but this story goes on and on and on... am I supposed to be learning from this?


**Hi there!**

**This is an incredibly old story of mine that went on hiatus a long time ago. Since I found the time, I decided to spruce it up a little and post it. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Some people imagine that Arceus always breathes down the neck of everyone in the world, and that no matter how small you've scrunched yourself up, he'd always see the naughty and the nice and the fine line between them. I rarely ever buy into crap like that. Color me conceited, but I always considered myself a good enough agent to avoid the peering eyes of gods, deities, and fuck-all floating around in the 'new frontier'. In the hierarchy of credible fairy-tales, the list scaled from clefairy to greater beings to all-powerful gods. No one entity has the time to judge some insignificant revenge story in a decrepit military base.

Yet here I am... getting punished... staring at _Plee's _hands, once so frequently put to use in exploring and climbing. The ramifications of my tiny spree are so _personal_, so specific it makes me sick and angry; why, out of all those really committing acts of horror did I get such a short straw - the transformation into the pokémon who befriended me on my seventh Christmas? It's not even entirely figurative when I swear that I've been tortured, and it leaves a silly feeling in my strange-ass treecko gut to use the word _torture_ for my feelings.

I'm such a self-pitying freak of nature. So much so that I pity how pitiful my pitying is. Damn it all.

This is going to be a very short adventure, I can already tell. Anything that comes next is just the epilogue. As far as I'm concerned, everything stopped mattering when I finally got what I came for. The consequence for it freaked me out, but it didn't stop me from being happy.

I was out for revenge, and I got it. End of story.

After all of this time, I realize that I'm not breathing and I let out a slow breath. That seems to seal this new punishment, because my body suddenly finds itself a victim to cold Winter weather and weariness. My green body is slippery from all the melting snow, flakes shine in the bleak winter sun, and it's all too authentic. Plee's body belonged to me. What does that mean?

Lucky for me, I know how a treecko composes itself. Years of seeing Plee dance, walk and fight has taught me enough to put balance under my feet. All those things he can't do anymore rushed back to me like they did the first few weeks after I lost him. No crying now, though- not until I know what is going on. My limbs argue that they aren't long enough, and I hope my body doesn't treat it like an amputation and throw me into shock. A few more wobbles, and all systems are ready for takeoff; everything enters focus, and I exit from my stupor and onto a ledge, my body leaning over a steep cliff.

It's a pretty good wake up call. "Shit!" I cough out, dropping to my ass like a child learning how to walk. Wincing as I do, I slowly scoot away from the edge to a place where I may gaze out at the amazing view without falling into it. I force out another curse for an entirely different reason. Sometimes, one can only pay homage to an amazing thing with words like that.

Ever hear of the phrase '_winter wonderland'? _A few photos of this view and I would be starting up my own postcard business. A reddish-brown rock laid underneath this snow, so I assume that this place has extreme highs and lows. "Hot summers, cold winters," I think out loud, trying to figure out my position. "China? Try American... try familiar... Wyoming? Gallatin Range... 45° degrees and nineteen seconds North 110 degrees, fifty minutes and twelve seconds West. Start from around the center of Germany..." I don't think I can quite manage that one, even if I got lucky with remembering the coordinates of Gallatin Range. All facts prior to this dead-end are thanks to my dad. A real explorer type if I ever saw one. I sigh, trying to rub warmth into my stubby hands, "what is the answer?"

"Around eight thousand and fifty two kilometers to the Northeast, you disgusting bastard!" A shrill voice screams out. Now this truly transforms into a nightmare. That little totodile, who pushed me into the water that had me over eight-thousand kilometers from Germany and in Plee's body, now stood before me. Not only can I see his sorrow, I must now listen to it as well.

We did not arrive alone, because in his trembling claws the barrel of my trusty magnum stares right at me, ready to spit leaden fire. He should stop crying before the tears freeze to his face, or gets a bad shot off.

I feel sick to my stomach. All the confusion keeps me busy for only so long, and my mind processes what I did to the little blue totodile without any semblance of mercy. Plee's body or not, I'm a sick creature who may just deserve whatever wounds the gun has left to dole out. Self-pity, I notice, sounds more and more reasonable as time goes on. "Arceus," the small thing sobs maniacally, "you shot him! H-h-his head... the back of it... _agh! W-why? Ba-oo-s!"_

"Don't bother asking why," I recommend, looking back out at the beautiful blankets of snow. In the far distance, I see the makings of a large empire. Since when did this large, bright, colorful city arrive in Wyoming? Maybe this really is heaven, because I cannot imagine my father's review on the place- although exciting- being this grand. Regardless, it beat looking at the totodile- that causes guilt to rise up in my chest. Painful, painful guilt. "This is a territory I'm familiar with."

The totodile whines. "_You're dumb! This is not the Gallatin Range!" _He shouts. I'm pretty sure he just wants to unleash his anger and frustration, so I let the young totodile vent out to his heart's content before he puts me down. "I know the typical wind statistics for all fifty American states, and for most countries around the world, too! This is nothing like Wyoming. Why did someone like you get past all the doors? Why did you hurt Baos? _Tell me why!_"

I have to admit: I'm fairly impressed. "Really, kid?" I ask suspiciously. "Do Montevideo, Uruguay."

"No! I don't negotiate with k-killers!" I feel bad for making the kid scream, but at least the obnoxious stubbornness helps me think he is less hurt than he really is. Yet that all changes when he drops the gun and curls up, sobbing like a lost kid. How young is this totodile, anyway? How fast can Baos corrupt something? For me, three minutes... the totodile can range from a newborn to ten years old, and my specific knowledge on pokémon is of no help. American totodiles are either too rare to be found or already domesticated, ruining any pattern of aging they once had.

Call me greedy, but I don't want to live with it. Maybe that's my punishment; Arceus, or Dialga- pick your poison- wants me to be the one who decides that he should die. "Fine," I say out loud. For some reason, the steps I take towards the totodile are cautious, like I'm worried about getting shot. It hurts to kneel down so close to him, hearing him silently ask _why_ again and again. He's lost everything, including the nerve to man up and finish this strange trip. "Fuck! Kid, tell me the shitting wind speed in Montevideo and I'll let you kill me, okay? You can shove the it right into my mouth and-"

"Eight to t-ten meters per second," the sly creature whispers, rising back up to his full height. A spark of determination flares in his eyes, and I begin to wonder if this is the right thing to be teaching the young totodile. But since when do I fucking care? All of this silliness... none of it changes the fact that I was destined to die in that laboratory, surrounded by guards. Trading away my life for some tidbit about the weather? Hell, I would pay the little guy, as long as this just _ends. _My knees smack the soft, snowy ground as I close my eyes, waiting for that final impact. The small gun clicks, priming itself gleefully. "I... _I hate you!_"

By the way, for anyone out there wondering how to get a childish totodile to point a gun at you so easily, I figured out the answer just one evening ago.

* * *

**Just one evening ago...**

A pool of water is glowing blue inside of it, and _rumbling_ as if it is trying to tell me something. I'll save that for later. Finally, Baos emerges from up above, taking out a weapon of his own. The gun in his hand flies away, sliding across the catwalk above this odd sight. I always had a knack for potshots. Don't mess with an angry angel of death and his magnum. Or his treecko. God, I miss Plee so much every day. It hurts. Why did Baos have to take him away with his greediness and abuse of pokemon scruples? I walk up the catwalk, pushing my revolver into his face. I don't even have the patience to set down the bag.

"Ah," he says, "you must be wond'ring what this is." His English, his American, is terrible. It always has been.

"No."

"Then you want other information? What's got you Allies so desperate, this close to the end of the war?"

"No."

"Methinks an answer more than 'no', would be appropriate."

"No." My voice is trembling, but I'm trying to hold it back. It is from my fury, but he'll see it as fear. "You're not allowed to speak." Is my voice shaking from anger? Maybe the waviness is anticipation, or that anxiety one gets when the goal is so close that every minute detail threatened to ruin it. Taking all attention away from the surroundings and placing it into the goal, and messing everything up because of it. What did I care? A platoon would be outside waiting for me, or is already on their way. I'm a dead man with no chance to escape.

Baos knows this. He moves away from the edge of the catwalk. It lacks railings, and that seems dangerous with this odd blue water floating around. The stupid researcher looks a little desperate to finish whatever this creation does. "So you want my life. This is very unfortunate... especially after this creation. Want to know what it is?"

I stare at him. My voice is wobbly but the gun isn't. I've won! This guy was going to pay for Plee's death. Three minutes of airless purple hell... Baos should consider his death lucky. I'll have time, even when the guards storm through the door; no reason to get it over with just yet. "Fine. You've got thirty seconds."

That really brought his mood up. What a hopeless fellow. "We have analyzed certain liquids, which have been found near sites of legendary pokemon, and have successfully mixed them in this pool. Have you ever heard of the world beyond our own, with only pokemon in it?"

Fifteen seconds on the clock still, but I shove the gun into his mouth anyway. "You don't have a single fucking ounce of business getting into that. You, who killed Plee, in a world with only pokemon? That's a joke."

"It was a war-zone. You're acting like a child." I am so happy his head would have a wind tunnel in it soon. "This rumbling... may be that it is ready to open the portal up again. We have sent one through at the start of the war, and it took many reserves. Now we have collected enough of this facilitating agent to power it up another time. With that-

"Times up." Baos's face, how priceless it is right now. Totally thought that I would start sitting down and contemplating alternate universes. Unlike most scientists, I have priorities. The man was now frantic, finally realizing there was no way out of this.

The scientist tries one more time. "There was a gas-mask right next to you," he started. A _guilt trip_. No one would be able to say this man was a great psychologist at his funeral. "It is your own fault."

He winces as the gun enters his mouth. "I loved that pokemon. From America to the front, all the way. That's how far Plee was my friend in arms. Without him, I'd be twitching like all the other other unlucky infantry units. And you killed him. And now, at the climax of your consequences, you try and assume that I don't remember that terrible moment like it was yesterday? Fuck. Goodbye, Baos."

"_Totodile!" _A Pokémon screeches.

No! I turn my head instinctively and miss the final action, the big finale. The gun goes off for the fifth time this faithful day. Baos falls, and when I turn my head to him... looks like Hell's arms are dragging him down. Right into the ground. Good riddance. Now, the only issue was firstly, finding out what this totodile's next move was going to be, and secondly... dying in a hail of glorious gunfire.

Then it hits me. Of course. I've broken the cardinal rule I set for this endeavor. Just like Baos stole Plee from me I've stolen Baos from this totodile. I tried hard, but it still came out to be, as always, an eye for an eye. The thing gave a low whine, looking down at the dead master. This is what that prick was waiting for. It makes me mad thinking about it. That disgusting man with a pokemon who loves him enough to cry. Plee couldn't cry because his face congested from the poison, and I cried, but the mask blocked it. This is unfair.

It turns to me, claws out, almost like it's presenting what I did as if I'm a bad dog. The low whine becomes a maddening squeal and a choking sob. I could shoot it with the last shot in the chamber, but didn't feel like it. Felt like giving this totodile the final laugh, as a sort of apology for the way war is played. Getting ready for the end, I sling the bag up on my shoulder. The rumbling is quite loud, now. How odd that this portal between worlds doesn't even matter to me. The totodile's gone to blubbering now. The eyes want to pierce mine, and I let them. Let him see that I had a fucking motive. Plee, are you happy? Fuck, I, what did I just do? Eight people and one pokemon dead. Fucking hell... I became a monster. All because of Baos.

I open my arms wide, like I'm waiting for a hug. I toss the revolver into the bag. "Well come on, you little shit! Come and get a piece of me!"

A second invitation isn't needed nor possible; the totodile shrieks and flies at my throat. Instead of clawing it out, the claws, white as ivory, surround my neck. It wants me to suffer. Thinking cruelly already. War is like a drug, and poison is the detox. Example: Plee. His name is just a sound to me, now. We hit the glowing blue water below, now, and the bag is keeping us near the surface. The contorted face of rage throttles me, but I try to focus on the rumbling's crescendo, not on the growing pain.

* * *

And _that_, is how you get a totodile to shoot you.

I open my eyes and see my salvation being lifted off of his feet, wailing and crying the entire way. The toughest-looking krookodile I've ever seen plucks up the small totodile, curiosity almost cracking his gruff, callous face. "Now, what do we have here?" He asks, inspecting the writhing, sobbing totodile in his grasp. "Young'un, _hate_ is a strong word, and y'all better not be trying to resolve this violently. That's, uh, gimme a minute, now. There's a name for this... affray! Y'all stop affraying this instant. Or I'll start affraying, and I do a mean affray- what is that on the ground under you, totodile?"

This pokémon is straight out of the boondocks, and even against this totodile's prodigal knowledge of the weather, I put another point on this being Wyoming. "A gun_!" _He screams back to his larger reptilian counterpart, "it hurts others b-badly, and he killed my master_!"_

A scowl swept over the krookodile's face. "Pokémon don't have no masters, young'un, and I wouldn't let anyone catching you spreading that around." He tosses down the totodile and picks up the gun. "I'd put poké down that the trigger here makes it go... and something comes out- something along the lines of nasty. Pretty silly, if you ask me. Don't we pokémon got enough ways to be hurting each other? How'd you climb this far up the mountain?"

"_No, no no!" _Like a bully holding a smaller kid's cap above his head, the krookodile keeps the little child from grabbing the gun. I'm more curious about the idea of being brainwashed. Maybe this krookodile acts as the first sign of my mind's corruption, telling me to flee back into reality before I drown in that pit of water. I write this off as being a little too ridiculous, however. "He killed master, and now I have to kill him back!"

"Ha, _kill me back_?" Now that entertained me. It turns awkward, because the krookodile said something alone the same lines, yet as a whole treats the situation as it ought to be treated: disgusting and out-of-place. "He had something along the lines of a master," I admit.

The krookodile sighs heavily. "All of this business gives me a really bad headache," he grunts. "Again, how'd you scale the mountain?"

I know that my track record for screwing with 'diles is pretty bad, but if it wasn't obvious before, I'll reiterate that I don't care. "I fucking _swam__." _

"Have it your way, for now. Poor six-year-old totodile must feel mighty bad, whatever went on. So I think, just in 'the name of balance or so-they-say, I'll let the little guy choose who gets the blindfold, and who gets knocked out. I only got one bandana in this bag, and I can't have you seeing how I get in."

Six years old... why wouldn't it all just stop? Something within me prayed for the impossible chance for the totodile to no choose the bandana. The cold, the biting freeze of the stone as this krookodile drags me back to wherever he came from... it will distract me from all the implications of this little creature being _six years old_. More than a master, that disgusting scientist was this pokémon's father. To think... a simple switch from master to father would have won him the sympathy of the gruff red crocodile... why am I so unlucky?

I look up to see that the totodile, as expected, sobs away as the krookodile puts the blindfold over his eyes. "Do you mind telling me where we are?" I ask as the krookodile towers over my kneeling treecko body.

"Swing Valley, home of the largest rebellion Orchidia's ever seen. Welcome." Everything goes back to black as a firmly closed claw crashes into my face.


End file.
